


Smile Inc.

by pizzacreative (LMB)



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Accidental Kissing, Alternate Universe, Anesthesia, Dentist Roger Taylor, M/M, Nervous Deaky, Smile (Band) Era, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27754894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMB/pseuds/pizzacreative
Summary: In which Roger is a brand new dental assistant, John is a scared patient who’s gay for said assistant, and Tim is the dentist. There might even be Maycury in there somewhere.
Relationships: Brian May/Freddie Mercury, John Deacon/Roger Taylor
Comments: 11
Kudos: 20





	Smile Inc.

A stone scuttled down the center of the city street. His first dental appointment in years and John Deacon found himself stalling in ways unimaginable before. Today, he pressed every button on the television remote to find one news channel and adjusted the brightness levels on all the lights. He even had to make sure the blender was spinning at optimal speed and check if any electrical outlets were shorting out. All this at about seven in the morning. To say his flatmate Brian was less than pleased would be an understatement. In fact, Brian was the first to throw John out the door along with his coat.

"Stop messing around, mate, and get it over with," he'd said. "You don't want to be late." Then, Brian went back to his and his boyfriend Freddie's room to sleep in.

But deadlines weren't as important to John as they were to Brian. Maybe because John wasn't working on a sixty-plus-page dissertation, or because he didn't care when house chores got done one way or the other. That was why he kept kicking stones and stopping to make sure none of the street lamp bulbs were burnt out. It had nothing to do with the pit slowly growing in his stomach. Nothing at all.

John's stone skipped over the cracks in the road like alligator skin as he grew further along. He counted them, like he did as a small child on the way to school. Only, he hadn't his mother or father to tug on his wrist this time around. Eventually, the stone landed at the front entrance to a small white building. John looked up to see a red-lipped grin with a gold gleam above the front tooth emblazoned across the doors.

So, this was Smile Inc., huh? John didn't see why the logo needed look so cheery. Most of the people inside made a living pulling out bloodied skeleton parts and, gulp, _disposing_ of them. Who knew where those teeth went? They could be in the sewer systems for all anybody knew.

Just as John was contemplating a world with teeth-polluted oceans, the doors swished open automatically. They must've detected John's stone on the black doormat. John could wait a little longer. He could pick up the stone and try to find out if it was granite or flint. Maybe quartzite. But his cleaning was at 10, and that would leave him half an hour late. Brian would not want to hear this.

With an inward sigh, John walked inside to the main desk to check in. The lady behind it handed him a piece of paper with a clipboard, where he filled across the tables. Name? John Deacon. Have an appointment? Yes. Address or insurance changed? No. How psyched are you to be here? Not very. (That last one wasn't truly a table but might as well have been.)

From there, he had to sit in a chair until somebody called his name. That was something John did very well, waiting. Only because he was caught in an unending daydream, mind buzzing with ideas. Anyone who knew John could confirm he had a brain like a Christmas tree. And that he was the most likely candidate to fix the lights on one. Give him a few tiny red, green, and blue bulbs to tinker with, and he'd be happy. But there was none of that here in the dentist waiting room. Just a table and a few mags on the rack with the latest news. So, John leaned back, crossed one leg over the other, envisioned himself playing with his lights, and waited.

"John?" someone called after a bit. John recognized the voice as Dr. Tim Staffell even before he turned to see the curtained brown hair and hazel eyes. Tim had a small pink scarf around his neck, too, for personal embellishment--not that it made his coat and scrubs any less obvious. John didn't know why he bothered. It was akin to putting a knitted cap on a polar bear and thinking that made it less bloodthirsty.

John could feel the muscles in his arms tightening as he got up from his relaxed position. The stomach pit had come back stronger than ever, and sweat was forming on his brow. Must've been the heat. The sun _was_ extra bright today, so he'd arrived at the dentist's with a pair of amber aviators. He'd take them off now if they weren't very good at hiding the sweat. From the heat. Of course.

"Welcome back! Been a while since your last visit--back when this place was called 1984 Dental Associates," Tim said, leading John down the hall to the x-ray room. "How are you?"

"Well, thank you, and you?" John replied, wondering how he hadn't thrown up along with that sentence. Clearly, the heat was getting to him in more ways than one. Heat. That's all it was.

"Hey, you all right? You're walking a little funny," Tim noticed.

"Warm weather we're having," John said with a polite smile. Tim raised a brow.

"But it's March."

"Oh? I haven't noticed," John shrugged. Why couldn't he hold it together? Usually, it was less obvious when he was undergoing...ah, _heat exhaustion._ He could only hope he’d make it through the x-rays before the 'sun' got to him.

At the first sight of the dentist chair, all John's delusions of impending heatstroke fell away. This was nerves at its _finest._ Although the chair bent at an angle that looked relaxing, John couldn't forget there were handpieces attached to it that peered into his mouth and invaded his privacy. There was an overhead light that burned his eyes, too, and monitors that displayed pictures of his teeth to everyone. What was with the glass dividers situation--did John need to see and hear other patients being tortured alive? Why had the office become _worse_ with age? Shouldn't it have been the other way around?

"John, I'm going to lean you back, and then we'll start your cleaning," Tim said. John went along with it. It was the only thing he could do. The bib was already hanging around his neck, waiting to catch any drool or possible blood that entailed. The way Tim was already leaning over him, too, with a blue mask over his mouth like a killer cyborg--only a _substantially_ frightening image. 

"Open wide," Tim said, and John did. Tim didn't make any comment when John squeezed his eyes shut at the feeling of the hook scraping along his teeth or the probe sinking into his gum line. The only thing he did make a small noise at was the space between John's front tooth and right lateral incisor, which he found particularly difficult to scrape.

"You've got a small cavity in there, right between those," Tim explained. "You brush twice daily?"

"Yes," John replied.

"Floss?"

"Sometimes."

"Sometimes," Tim repeated in thought. Then, he asked, "Do you like to drink soda?"

"No. Just milk," John said, and realized too late that the thing was loaded with sugar as well. Dammit! Never again! (Okay, not really.)

"All right, well, we can get you a silver filling after I finish adding this fluoride to your teeth. You're not supposed to eat or drink for half an hour, although I have a feeling that won't be a problem since you'll already be here," Tim added with a chuckle. "I need to get something from the main desk, okay? I'll be right back."

Tim took the foul-tasting brush out of John's mouth, and John could breathe again. Here, John had to give Tim credit. As much as he was hoping he'd avoid getting a cavity, at least Tim was willing to take care of it now instead of leaving John to think about it till his next appointment. _That_ John would rather _not_ wait for. He was starting to understand what Brian meant by the value of deadlines.

"Here you are," Tim said, handing John a piece of paper. "We've recalculated your cost."

£59.10? Uh-oh. John didn't know if he could pay that much. He had £21.26 in his wallet, which was only enough to cover the examination.

"This is all I have," John said, showing Tim the money. "Is it possible I could bring the rest around sometime tomorrow?" _You know, so I never have to visit this place again for a while?,_ he thought.

"Of course," Tim nodded. "How would you like to render it? Cash? Check?"

"I'll bring cash," John said. Why not? There was plenty left in the budget between him and his flatmates this week. 

"Great," Tim smiled and shoved three other tools back into John's mouth without asking. "That, actually, is a perfect segue. Either I or Roger will be there at the office to pick it up tomorrow. But for now, I should introduce him."

"Was that my name I heard?" A young, raspy voice sounded from around the corner.

"Come on over. We were just talking about you," Tim said. In walked a man with a slight build and blue scrubs that enhanced his eyes. They were half-lidded with long lashes. He had a small face with a tan complexion and short blonde layers surrounding it. His eyebrows were charmingly dark. "John, this is my new dental assistant, Roger. He'll be helping me with your filling today."

Roger's eyes smiled above his mask. “Hi, John! How are you?”

 _Incredibly gay, and you?_ John didn’t say out loud. Instead, he waved and nodded as best he could with his mouth pried open. Not like he stood a chance anyway. Thanks to Tim's interference, John was drooling all down the left side of his mouth. Not very attractive.

"John, I'm going to brief over the procedure with Roger real quick. While I do that, feel free to look over this paperwork that asks your permission for one today," Tim said, handing it to John. "Let me know if you have any questions." He and Roger went over by the monitor with John's teeth pictures to discuss, while John was left to sift through two or three pages.

Most of it, as Tim said, was just asking John's permission to get his cavity filled. Seemed like he ought to do that. Brian would want that for him. Signed.

This would fall under John's insurance plan. Obviously. Signed.

Somehow, though, he could not bring himself to sign the statement that asked if a local anaesthetic could be injected into his gums at some risk.

Tim seemed to sense John's furrowed eyebrows from a little away.

“You have a question, John?”

“Yes. You said I've only a small cavity. Do I need anaesthesia for that?”

"He does have a point--" Roger began, but Tim cut him off.

"We do recommend that you get the anaesthetic. While it is true that you have a small cavity between your front teeth, we tend to add the numbing injection since we work mostly around the gums," Tim explained. "Here at Smile Inc., we want to make our patients as comfortable as possible."

"Is that so?" John nodded politely while crying on the inside. _How_ could a quick drilling session be less comfortable than sticking someone in the mouth with a needle that left them sore for hours? John didn't see the logic in that. Unless, say, Tim's hand decided to slip and end up causing a horrible accident. But what were the chances?

John's hand paled and shook as he signed off that last line. Pain it was, then. Horrible, senseless pain. At least Roger didn't look too thrilled about it either. John could see his face lowering in a frown for a half-second before his eyes smiled once again.

“I can put your pretty sunglasses on that chair for you, sweetie," he suggested, pointing to the chair by John's feet. "And your coat and wallet.”

"Em, okay. Thank you," said John. He took off his coat and handed that to Roger along with his wallet. Roger put them next to each other on the chair. Then, he walked back over and slid John's sunglasses slowly off his face so that his gloved fingers were in John's hair. Oops, he was blushing. He could always try blaming heat again.

Roger smiled again before putting the glasses on the chair as well and handing John a pair of darker ones to put on. Then, he assumed his place on the left side of John. Tim was on the right, turning on the overhead and poking around once more.

“Huh, I didn't notice this. There’s a gap between your two front teeth," he commented. "We could get that fixed for you.”

“Only if there’s a frenum causing it,” Roger submitted, folding his arms. “Otherwise, I think it’s unique.”

“Oh, yeah,” Tim looked again. “That’s been removed.”

John nodded. He had to be put to sleep for that one. No way he could’ve gone through the procedure without trembling like an earthquake.

“We don’t have to fix your teeth. Only a suggestion,” Tim decided. And probably for the better, too, as Roger looked about to burn his head off. "You've agreed to the numbing, right?" Tim asked.

"Well, I had to," John said more passive-aggressively than he meant. But it was true, he did. No use arguing about it.

Roger looked over to Tim as he got the needle, then back at John.

“Are you nervous about the anaesthetic, honey?”

"I'll be fine," John replied. Even so, he clung to the armrests in a death grip. Roger lay his hand next to John's left one with his palm facing up.

“Here, hold my hand. Squeeze if you need.”

Wordlessly, John took it. Roger's hand was slender and square, yet warm. John almost couldn't look Roger in the eye, sure he was blushing. Tim leaned over John with the needle.

"All right, John, here's the first one," he said. John's eyes widened. There were more?! "Open wide," Tim said again, and, well, John couldn't refuse. He did not want to look at the needle, though, so he shut his eyes. His breathing grew shallow at the feeling of it puncturing his gums.

“That’s it. Breathe through your nose," he heard from Roger's soothing voice. "Give it a squeeze.”

John squeezed Roger's hand, and Tim removed the needle. A wave of tiredness flowed through John all of a sudden. He was still aware enough to register the tingly yet sore feeling in his upper mouth, but the rest of him felt giddy. Maybe it was because Roger was still holding his hand.

"Do you go to school around here, John?" Roger asked him.

"Yeh, I go to Chelsea. I'm studying to be an electrical engineer," said John.

"Oh, electrical engineer? What's that?" Tim asked nearby, curious.

"That's like someone who specializes in electronics and tech, right?" said Roger.

 _"Yeh,"_ John repeated with a grin. Roger got it. "That's my field, electronics. There are a few others."

"Wow, that's so cool!" Roger leaned in closer to John. "You must know a lot about computers."

"Actually, my main focus is on building musical equipment for my flatmates. We're in a band." John was giggling and drooling. Was he seriously trying to impress Roger right now in this state? John's Christmas-tree brain was definitely on fire. Somewhere in the smoke cloud around it, John knew he'd be embarrassed by all this later.

Tim gave John the second needle, and John squeezed Roger's hand again.

"Yep, that's it. Squeeze tight, now." Roger had a firm but not overbearing grip the whole time, which John liked. John didn't get why or how, but Roger's presence did help. There was definitely something besides his easy smile and live-in-the-moment attitude that had a calming effect. And John wasn't one for sentimentalities. He'd be the first to explain to Brian and Freddie the difference between alternating currents and neurotransmitters, even if they claimed their love was 'electric.' As much as John knew the chemistry between him and Roger had a logical explanation, he didn't want to admit it. For once, he embraced the mystery and the idea that Roger might be sending him telepathic messages through touch. Because that was what he felt in his mind.

"You're doing really good," Roger complimented, rubbing his thumb over John's knuckles. "Not a peep from you. Very brave."

"Our other patients are usually much more vocal," Tim agreed. John's attention wasn't on him, though, or any other ideas usually in his head. It was all on the pleasant young man holding his hand and smiling at him with his eyes.

“Look at your hair,” Roger noticed just then, “with that black button-up you've got on. It’s so classy. Isn't it?” he said, turning to Tim.

“Yeah, you were trying to grow yours out too, weren’t you, Rog?” Tim replied.

“Yeah,” Roger turned back to John with a sheepish look. John pictured Roger with shoulder-length locks and felt himself melt in his chair for a moment. Not that the shaggy look wasn’t also cute. "Aw, thank you, hon," said Roger. Whoops. John must've told him that last part.

"Last one, John," said Tim. John squeezed his eyes shut ahead of time, and was confused when he felt Tim's gloved finger but no immediate pain followed. He opened them again to see both Roger and Tim watching him.

“Are you okay?” Roger had another hand on top now. “Did it hurt you?”

“I couldn’t feel it that time,” John gasped.

“Good,” Roger grinned.

The drugs must have been kicking in because John felt a rush of invincibility in that moment, like he could almost do anything. So, he sat up from his chair, pulled down Roger's mask, and kissed him full on the lips. While it was happening, it felt great. Roger's lips had a punchy flavor to them like vodka. His scent was more of a woodsy, lily-like one, though. It was dispersed throughout Roger's hair and skin, and John couldn't get enough of it. That was why he threaded his hands through his hair and brought them closer together.

After Tim separated them, though, John began crashing down to reality. Tim looked a little mortified, already lecturing on how safety equipment prevented the spread of germs. There wasn't much reaction on Roger’s part. He looked the same as before but with a slight flush in his cheeks. Maybe this sort of thing happened to him all the time, so he thought nothing of it. John didn't know if that was worse than offense or not.

Then, someone else was asking for Roger's help from the glass divider next door, and he was walking off, saying, “If I don’t see you again, John, good luck with college!” That left John sitting there with Tim drilling into his teeth, semi-high and yet red-faced at what he'd just done.

~

When John arrived home, Freddie and Brian were lounging on the couch in their pyjamas.

"Where've you been all morning?" Freddie asked nonchalantly.

"Baby, I told you," Brian chuckled. "He was at the dentist."

"Oh," Freddie covered his teeth. "Dreadful place."

John watched Brian's face morph from amusement to protectiveness as he wrapped an arm around his boyfriend, pulling him close.

"So, how'd it go, then?" Brian asked, stroking Freddie's hair.

"I got a cavity filling," John showed him, "and they had a new dental assistant."

"Oh, and how was that?"

John blushed. "I flirted with him. I told him I liked his hair. And then, I, ah, kissed him.”

Brian’s eyes widened. “What!”

“Deaky, you little devil!” Freddie roared. When he was done, he winked. “I’m actually impressed.”

"Just like that," Brian stammered. "And you didn't get his name, or his number or anything?"

"His name is Roger," John recalled. "Don't have his number on me. I could always ask Tim tomorrow when I pay the rest of my deductible, but I dunno if he'd wanna talk to me."

 _"Johhhn~,"_ Freddie whimpered playfully, "you can't leave us like that! He must've been into you too."

"Freddie's right," Brian said. "I can't see you doing all of this unprompted unless someone else showed it first."

"Well, he called me 'sweetie' and 'honey,' and let me hold his hand," John said. "He complimented my looks too. But I could be mistaking it for friendliness."

Brian and Freddie groaned and hid their heads in their arms in unison.

"Am I a hopeless case after all?" John asked.

"You are such a Christmas tree brain, dearest!" Freddie cried out dramatically.

"Whatever you do, John," Brian mumbled, _"get his number."_

~

The next day, John went back to Smile Inc. and waited at the main desk to give the other half of the money he owed.

He'd scheduled another appointment here six months from now. Suppose Roger was right, and they didn't see each other again? There were over a thousand dental firms in London--Roger could graduate from dentist school and transfer to one of those by John's next visit. Then, John would have to go back to the sweaty, stomach-churning feeling he had while it was just him and Tim again. Not a favourite prospect of his, to be honest.

John was so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn't notice the blonde head approaching from behind the main desk.

"'Ello! Remember me?"

"Roger," John breathed and craned his head. “Where’s Tim?”

“Ah, he couldn’t come in today. Said he had to go run an errand, or something or other,” Roger casually cracked his knuckles. John noted he wasn't wearing a mask or scrubs today. Just his normal clothing and a beautiful pair of lips.

“Oh. I'll leave this with you, then.”

"Hey, thanks," Roger grinned and held out his hand, and John placed the money in it. He blushed at the memory of yesterday, when the only thing between their hands was Roger's glove. Roger seemed to remember too, chortling through his nose and lifting John's hand teasingly.

"So, listen, when Tim rattled off that whole thing about the anaesthetic yesterday--" Roger scoffed and shook his head in spite of himself. "I just thought I'd let you know it's not actually necessary if the filling's on the tooth surface. So, you were in the right."

"I'm perfectly aware," John snorted, allowing himself to roll his eyes for once.

Roger chuckled. "Ah, okay, then."

"Have a good one," John said.

"You too," Roger nodded, pocketing the money, and looked up. “John?”

“Hm?”

Roger took both sides of John’s face and kissed him. John's eyes fluttered shut as his hands flew up to Roger's face as well. It was Roger who played with the back of John's hair this time and breathed in his scent, making John shudder in delight. If he thought kissing Roger was fireworks yesterday, him kissing back was, well, _wow._

When they pulled apart, Roger was smiling at him with half-lidded eyes and tucking his hair behind his ear.

“Forgot to give you that the other day before I left.” One more quick peck, then, “Call me.”

He walked off, leaving John winded and wondering when exactly, at which point, Roger had left the note with his contact info scrawled on it in his coat pocket.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, Deaky.


End file.
